to live in this worldyou must be ableto do three thingsto love what is mortal;to hold itagainst your bones knowingyour own life depends on it;and, when the time comes to let it go,to let it go

And then I feel the sun itselfas it blazes over the hills,like a million flowers on fire --clearly I'm not needed,yet I feel myself turninginto something of inexplicable value.-from The Buddha's Last Instruction

Of course! the path to heavendoesn't lie down in flat miles.It's in the imaginationwith which you perceive this world,and the gestureswith which you honor it.-from The Swan

The poem was made not just to exist, but to speak—to be company. It was everything that was needed, when everything was needed.

People do it,some out of desperation,others out of greed.They steal.The very powerful and clever might steal a whole house,or a million dollars.It's been done.But what does it matter?Love is the one thing the heart cravesand love is the one thingyou can't steal.

Now the fire rises and offers a dozen, singing, deep-red roses of flame.

Every night the owl with his wild monkey-face calls through the black branches, and the mice freeze and the rabbits shiver in the snowy fields— and then there is the long, deep trough of silence when he stops singing, and steps into the air.

And who will care, who will chide you if you wander away from wherever you are, to look for your soul?

Now of all voyagers I remember, who among them Did not board ship with grief among their maps?